The Whistle-stop
by adtoyfan
Summary: Uchiha Itachi is a local warlord, the rest of the Akatsuki are his rude, reluctant lackeys (they're probably just there to kill time) and our poor OC is undergoing some mild psychological torture. AU, Rated M for violence only.
1. Chapter 1

The Whistle-Stop

Masma was worried. It was market day again, and the pantry was looking rather bare. She couldn't put it off any longer. She had to go.

Standing in the kitchen, basket ready, fidgeting with her shawl, she wondered how it had come to this.

She used to love market day. The noisy merchants bringing news, the cheap trinkets she could (sometimes) afford, the smell of fresh apples brought in from their sister village to the west… Now she dreaded it's arrival every week.

He was to blame, that damn hooligan. Ever since he'd interfered with her perfect afternoon perusing the books a rare book merchant had brought in that week, her Thursdays had become a hellish exercise in anxiety.

-6 Thursdays ago-

There she'd been, minding her own business by the book merchant's caravan, when a cut-purse had dashed by, making off with her…well, her purse. That's what they were named for anyway. She hadn't been overly concerned – it had been over 2 months since she'd been pick pocketed. She was well overdue. The ridiculous crime rate this tiny village managed to support was mind-boggling. It was also the reason why she had an "outside purse" and a real one. She kept her outside purse half- filled with Iron bits, the smallest unit of currency there was; she used it to occasionally pay for the random snack (she loved street food - dysentery be damned), but mostly to distract the street-urchins from her real purse. Like any halfway-sensible villager here.

So, there went her outside purse, and after a moment of watching, she returned her attention to the book she was holding. Until she heard the distinct sound of a scuffle emanating from the corner alley she'd seen the boy enter. Like any local villager, she took that as her signal to exit stage left. Maybe head towards that potato stand on the other side of the village square.

Putting down her book wistfully, she turned to leave and came to an abrupt halt.

For some reason, this section of the market had been completely emptied. There was the stall she'd just bought apples from – unmanned, tent cloth flapping in the wind. A quick look around the alley that the walls of merchant's tents and caravans formed told her why. There, in the dark shade formed by the tent put up against the town clock, stood a group of young men. A more careful glance around revealed more guys milling about this section of market in similar groups of two's and three's.

Damn

How had she not noticed this? No wonder everyone had left. Lost in reading the book's introduction, she'd completely missed the arrival of the local criminal overlord's gang.

They had moved into the area 6 months ago, terrorized the Night Watch and picked off the majority of the criminal vermin that populated this village's underbelly. After a flurry of activity that incited general anxiety in the public, they had mysteriously quieted down. Now, apart from collecting tribute from the local gangs and disciplining the occasional rogue, they seemed to do nothing at all. Of course, except appear in public places to spread panic and terror _like right now_.

At least it was just the henchmen making this public appearance, and their leader was absent as usu-

Never mind.

Masma sighed inwardly at her luck as the Hooligan himself stepped out from behind the alley she'd heard the sounds of fighting come from. Behind him, one of his minions hauled the struggling cut-purse.

Ah. She was probably going to have to witness his beheading or something, now. Lovely.

The Hooligan was tall, imposing, with his hair long and held back in a loose ponytail. The wide expanse of the black robes he and his gang wore didn't give room for much else in the way of description, but one got the distinct impression that he was fit. Suddenly, he turned and headed down her way, facial expression speaking of extreme levels of boredom. The lines running from his eyes down to the corners of this mouth gave the vague impression of a scowl, which only augmented his bored look. His eyes though, told a totally different story. They were intense. So intense that their blackness seemed an even blacker black than the usual kind to Masma.

Wait, his eyes?

Damn it, she definitely wasn't imagining it. This hooligan was staring directly at her! While before she had hoped he would dismiss her presence and carry on with this public execution - or whatever he was going to do to that thief - now she began to get slightly worried. They drew closer, accompanied by the ripe smell of the thief's unwashed body. She was frankly surprised that she only had to suffer the amount of stench usually attributed to one body (the high population of slimy criminals among the villagers had given them the uncanny ability to attribute values such as amount of stench and amount of danger-sense to numbers of people). Apparently, Hooligan and his crew took personal hygiene seriously. Wonders never cease.

Suddenly, henchman no. 1, who she was having trouble even pinning down as a man with all that long blonde hair, made a violent movement in her direction. She flinched, but he was just tossing the thief at her. He lay in a crumpled pile at her feet, groaning.

A deathly quiet voice spoke.

"What do you say?"

Looking up from the thief, she looked at henchman no.1, but he hadn't spoken. That only left his boss. She gulped and peeked up at him from her lowered head. He was staring intently at the thief.

"S- S- Sorry!"

Smelly Thief's voice was thin and reedy, and it was hard to make him out with his teeth chattering like that, but she got the gist of what he was saying. He reached up toward her, his grubby fist clutching her now-stained purse. She didn't want to take it. Goodness only knew where his hands had been. Also, what the hell was this? Why was Baka Hoolingan Overlord making this man return her outside purse?

Confused she glanced at him. He stared intensely back. She understood the message.

Take the purse or I will string your corpse from the village gates using your entrails.

Gulping, she took the purse, holding it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. Overlord blinked.

Approval?

"Maa, Itachi. Are we done here? I got shit to do, un!" Hooligan no. 1 spoke.

He directed his intense stare at blondie, who seemed completely unfazed, then turned - without so much as a word to her - and left.

-*NOW*-

Gathering up her wits, she picked up her basket and headed towards the door. Worrying, waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering if he would show up again expecting some sort of reward - or show up for any reason whatsoever – was useless. He hadn't shown up for 6 weeks. What were the chances he'd show up now? She was probably safe

She sailed out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey everyone – I had posted this un-betad so I had to make several corrections later on, once I saw how many mistakes there were, lol. This is what happens when you rush a writing sesh.

Chapter 2

It had now officially been 1 hour of shopping and nothing horrible had happened. Her wicker shopping basket was two-thirds full, and she was eyeing a rather appealing looking bunch of grapes.

Standing here in the shade of the fruit stand, feeling up grapes and surrounded by the sweet citrus-y smell of fresh oranges, Masma felt slightly silly for the overblown worrying session that she'd had in her kitchen. After all, there was a reason that she'd been surprised to see the Hooligan Overlord at the market – it wasn't exactly a gang 'scene', was it? Why would the average good-for-nothing be interested in deliciously fresh farm produce? That bunch probably ate meat every day, and for every meal. Also, goodness knows none of them cooked, or anything. They'd probably been coercing a nearby farmer's poor wife into tending to their culinary needs. That appearance had been a freak, once-in-a –lifetime incident. In the wake of this brilliant epiphany, Masma closed her eyes in relief, enjoying the cool shade of the fruit stand and feeling the tension she'd been harboring in her shoulders all morning melting away. Yes, that had definitely been a one-time-only fluke –

"Ma'am, are you buying or not?"

Her eyes snapped open in total confusion, which was closely followed by the beginnings of a feminine outrage. She glared at the fruit-seller that she'd been giving her business for years in disbelief. Had he just…had he just hurried her along? Sim _knew _that fruit-choosing was a delicate process. He never _ever_ hurried anyone up, yet here he was, rushing one of his oldest customers. More importantly, had he just called her _ma'am_? Ma'am? MA'AM? Was he implying that she did, in fact, look like a 50-year-old spinster?

Before her thoughts could escalate to an intensity that mere caps lock would be hard-pressed to express, however, she was distracted by the fact that her soon to be ex-fruit seller wasn't even bothering to look her in the eye as he insulted her patron(age). His gaze was flickering between his busy hands, which were inexplicably packing up his stand even though it was only noon, and something farther down the street. As a matter of fact, now that her eyes were open and she wasn't seeing through a red haze (well, she still was, but it was slowly fading) she noticed that a lot of the merchants were packing up their wares in a way that couldn't seem to decide if it was frantic or surreptitious. And they were all doing it with one eye fixed on something further down the street.

Masma felt a cold pit settle in her gut.

She closed her eyes and heartily wished that the local inn had caught fire, and that that was what had everyone's attention. Yes, of course. Merchants would want to pack up and move their highly flammable wooden wagons away from a fire, right? That was most definitely it.

She slowly opened her eyes, laid the bunch of grapes down and turned to stare at the fire too.

Sadly, it was not Mr. Sauther's livelihood going up in flames that everyone was staring at.

Instead, it was exactly what she had first suspected.

Overlord was making his leisurely way down the street.

A quick glance at the dark shadowy bit of wall that was always formed by tents pitching up around the town clock which should have revealed the rest of his posse melting into existence was…empty. Glances at the rest of the shadowy nooks and crannies that should have been prime candidates for making a stealthy appearance were likewise fruitless.

Huh.

Would you look at that?

Baka Overlord was operating…alone?

Well, it's not that she didn't think that he couldn't spread terror and mayhem on his own – according to rumors from 3 towns over, he had completely crushed the entire Night's watch. Unarmed, mind you. Simply because they'd had the audacity to walk around with bright lanterns when he was suffering a hangover from his morning drinking binge (who had morning drinking binges, anyway?).

But she'd sort of begun to imagine that the rest of his crew was something akin to his security blanket, and that he was theirs as well. It was an amusing thought, to imagine that these big, bad criminals had some sort of weak co-dependent relationship going on.

Masma smirked slightly, then let that smirk fade when she realized that, once again, Baka Overlord Ita-whatever was staring right at her. He'd even crossed the street to the side that she was on. He had a very determined set to his shoulders that spelled definite trouble. A quick glance to her right told her that Sim, having packed his cart up and locked it, had melted away.

The rat bastard.

Looking back at Ita-something, she groaned and tried to mentally prepare for whatever fresh hell she had in store.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: We'll get a taste of Itachi's POV with this entry. Yaay! Go ahead and review - let me know what you guys think**

Itachi was fuming.

He'd left that poor excuse for scum very clear instructions to inform him as soon as the girl made an appearance at the market. Instead, the cremlin had only just let him know – citing poor excuses for his lateness.

Apparently Itachi was "too well guarded" and it had been "difficult to get past his gang members" to access him. A likely story.

Itachi knew what to do with likely stories.

Maybe the man would be a little more careful about what kind of stories he spun once his tongue had healed.

He could hardly believe that he had been reduced to relying on the second-hand reports of a slimy cut-purse anyway. But he reminded himself that he had no choice. According to Deidara, he had communicated entirely the wrong message when he'd last had an interaction with the lady.

He had found this hard to imagine, as he had defended her honor as well as her property by catching the slime streak that had robbed her (without a gang-issued license for his activities, by the by). However, apparently, the manner in which he had conducted himself had been declared "shifty at best" and his eyes had communicated "something about hangings and entrails".

As tempted as he was to disagree with Deidara's assessment - after all he didn't consider the blonde a good judge of atmosphere, or social cues, or anything really - the man did seem to have a greater understanding of women than he did. The entrance to his private quarters was like a revolving door, and Itachi would wager good money that he had deflowered every farmer's daughter that was of age in a 10 mile radius of their base.

Her failure to reappear on the next market day had only reinforced his suspicions that she had misunderstood his gestures.

Therefore, to avoid spooking her, he had elected to have a lookout keep an eye out for her so that he could ambu- err...approach her once she'd gotten up the nerve to attend market day again. Having her not hear any mention of his lurking around was bound to bring her out in a week, tops.

Right?

Wrong. It had taken 6.

But she was here at last. He could actually feel the ghost of an emotion as he strode through the crowd in the direction she'd been seen in last (it would actually be more accurate to say that he strode _past _the crowd, since it parted neatly into two ahead of him). This emotion seemed familiar. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything properly, though, and it was hard to place. His pace slowed down as he thought about it. It reminded him of his childhood…of bullying his bratty little brother…

Ah.

Of course.

This was what the peasantry referred to as excitement, right?

Marveling at the fact that he could actually feel faint whispers of an emotion other than "smirking" – Deidara claimed that it was not mirth that he experienced at those times, but a sort of sadistic thrill that could only be described as "smirking" – he sped back up and turned a corner.

Aha.

There she was.

He watched her take a deep breath and close her eyes. The lines of her shoulders softened as if a large burden had just been lifted off of them. The curve of her neck was doing strange things to his stomach. It seemed to be making a feeble attempt at…jumping? That was two alien feelings now. His determination to explore this reaction to her was growing.

He began making his way down the street, keeping his eyes on her.

He caught her reaction to something said by the fruit vendor whose cart she was standing at. Her eyes snapped open, jolting her out of whatever reverie she'd been caught up in. She seemed surprised at first, but he watched her grow slowly indignant, then angry. The fire in her eyes replicated that strange feeling in his abdomen. It was…vaguely pleasant. All the same…

His eyes flickered to the vendor.

He would pay for her displeasure.

Then, he saw her start to look around, noticing the weaklings scurry this way and that to avoid him. Damn. He hadn't wanted her to notice his presence right away.

That fruit vendor would pay double for this.

Again, she closed her eyes. The tiny furrow in her brow gave the impression that she was wishing very hard for something. She seemed to spend a lot of time with her eyes closed, he mused.

When she opened them this time, she turned to look down the street, directly into his eyes.

As if by some sort of magical pull, he crossed the street to her side and quickened his pace before he even realized what he was doing.

However, as he got closer he was forced to admit once and for all that Deidara had been right in this matter. Once the flicker of surprise passed, it was plain to see that her eyes were filled with dread at his appearance.

He didn't know what she thought of him, exactly, but while fear and more fear was the reaction that he strove for with most people, he definitely did not want that to be hers. He would definitely be rectifying this.


	4. Chapter 4

The Whistle-stop, Chapter 4

_**Masma**_

Overlord whats-his-face came to a stop a few feet ahead of her. His eyes still held that dark, determined fire she'd grown accustomed to seeing in them.

Masma took a few seconds to bemoan the fact that she'd had the opportunity to become accustomed to anything about a criminal. Anything about this particular criminal, especially.

When those seconds stretched into almost a minute, she began to wonder why he wasn't making any moves to disrupt her train of thought. Her puzzlement must have shown on her face, as he immediately stirred into action. His lips parted, as if he were about to speak.

Then they stayed that way.

The silence stretched on.

Unable to bear the suspense, and probably driven more that a bit insane by 6 weeks of worrying - and then having her worries come to life - Masma began, "Um…"

Then she realized what she was doing. She nearly clapped her hands onto her mouth, shocked that she'd had the gall to try to speak before spoken to. But, deciding at the last minute to give the impression that she knew what she was doing, she clenched her fists and powered through the urge. In for an iron bit, in for a copper, she told herself. Then she continued,

"Can…I help you?"

Blast! That came out wrong!

'Um…can I help you?' Really? She didn't think that she could have managed to make that come out more sarcastic if she'd tried. She sounded like Mr. Sauther's moody teenage daughter when she was left manning the counter. If you didn't immediately tell her what you wanted she would treat you to a mix of condescension and sarcasm of a quality that only an adolescent could muster. Many a time she had left his inn full of the gnawing need to prove that she was not a slack-jawed dullard.

She screwed her eyes shut and cringed as she waited for retribution. Perhaps he would make it quick and painless.

_**Itachi**_

The lady was making a truly astounding face at him.

With her head moved that far back and her face all scrunched up like that, she looked remarkably like…a pug.

To his further amazement, he began to feel the urge to…smile. Perhaps even chuckle. He managed to keep a straight face, however. It wouldn't do to have the rodents see him as even remotely human. To reinforce this, he cast a glare at a scurrying townsperson and was satisfied to see the man nearly piss himself. Turning back to the lady, he tried to make sense of whatever she was doing to her face. It took him a few beats but he figured it out. She was in some sort of…prolonged flinch.

Ah. So that was it.

He then deduced that she was having a reaction of gut-wrenching fear from talking out of turn. This was common among the rode- err…townspeople. Fear drove them slightly out of their minds and made them do something reckless – perhaps look him in the eye, or speak when they have not been spoken to – and when they regained their senses, they were frozen with the realization of what they'd done.

He thought back to what he usually did in these situations to ease the reaction. He then belatedly realized that he was being foolish. Why on earth would he ever have eased the mind of a rodent that had dared to look him in the eye? There could have been no precedent for this situation.

Very well then, he decided. He would just do the _opposite_ of what he usually did to amplify their fear. That would probably work…right?

Let's see, he mused. What techniques did he usually use…?

Ah, ok, here was one - he would ignore them and let them wet themselves imagining that it was because they were as good as dead anyway, and therefore as worthy of his attention as a rotting corpse…making the alternative to _not_ ignore her? He was already doing that, to no effect. He dismissed that plan.

Hmm…well, last week he'd made one faint by looking directly at him – though to be fair, Deidara had said that he was glaring, even though he'd only meant to glance…at….him…

Itachi had an epiphany.

Oh dear.

This is what Deidara had meant when he said that she had the wrong impression of him. All the time that he'd spent looking at her - had she actually thought that he was glaring the whole time? He went through a quick recap of the events in the market 6 weeks ago and added in this new angle. Oh wow. If he'd done all that sidling out of an alley and manhandling of another man all while glaring at her, of course she'd panicked.

He felt a sinking feeling in his gut. Now, here she was, convinced that he was going to cut her down for unsolicited speaking. How was he ever going to have any kind of normal interaction with her?

Attempts to soften his expression while her eyes were closed were fruitless. Mainly because he had no mirror with which to see what changes he had wrought, but also partly because his face had a pretty limited number of default expressions: bored, mildly upset and Grim Reaper (naming courtesy of Deidara).

_**Masma**_

The arrival of what she was hoping to be a quick and relatively painless demise now seemed to be dragging out, much like this entire interaction. After dithering about whether now that she had closed her eyes, it would be impertinent to open them without his leave and relax her pose a little bit, she remembered that he was going to kill her anyway and took a peek.

Several of what she could only assume were spasms seemed to be running across Overlord's face. His mouth seemed to be twitching in what on the surface appeared to be a horrible approximation of a smile, but given his general …self...was most likely a grimace of bloodthirsty rage, Masma concluded.

Well, if he was going to take his time, she mused, perhaps she should run?

She should put up some sort of struggle, try making this difficult; and she should do it now while he was in the midst of his…paroxysms. Before he noticed that she was no longer frozen in fear.

She glanced furtively around at her avenues of escape as much as she could without moving her head. Her best bet was probably to start off by back-pedaling frantically – to keep an eye on any incoming attacks - before turning around and going into a full-out sprint. Clumsy as she was, backwards would not have been her first choice for direction of retreat, but at least now she wouldn't have to worry about bumping into anyone since they had all _abandoned her _(Sim, that slimy rat!).

A quick count of 3 and she was off! One, two, three steps…she could now turn around-!

…..and run directly into his chest.

He was behind her now, somehow.

_**Itachi**_

Alerted by the sudden return of her motor skills by her pathetic attempt at escape, Itachi was now blocking her route. He was slowly realizing that there was no need to reinvent the wheel (or any facial expressions) in this scenario. He would act like himself, not like one of the weak rodents that passed for men in this village.

He was an excellent person, of this he had no doubt. Her current opinion of him was no more than a misunderstanding. If she spent more time with him, doubtless she would get over it, and they could have a normal discussion. He would discover what his fascination with her was, exhaust it, and release her back into the wild…or whatever. Mind made up, he proceeded with alacrity to pinch a cluster of nerves at the base of her neck to knock her out then sling her up onto his shoulder, using his other hand to pick up her basket.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Itachi**_

A week ago, he would have allowed himself to falter in this scenario. But he was a different man now, filled with a sense of purpose. Even though a little naggy voice at the back of his mind theorized that it might just be a fresh healthy dose of narcissism.

A few minutes ago, while walking into his lobby, a very satisfied Itachi had been engaged in considering the logistics of caring for his new house guest. He was even going so far as to wonder about whether she would prefer blankets or furs when he was rudely interrupted by a gasping noise.

His minions were well aware of his feelings on distracting noises in his presence. Who the hell-

"Tachi! You didn't!"

He would never admit it, but 'Tachi' almost rolled his eyes

"What are you after now, Deidara? A quick - but very painful - death?"

Deidara ignored the death threat. They happened at least once a week.

"Please tell me that my eyes deceive me! Please tell me that that is not the corpse of the beautiful Masma lain across your shoulder!"

"You have only one eye. And why would I be carrying a woman's corpse around? "

"Oh, Itachi! I know how you struggle with the fairer sex! I'm pretty sure that other than that fling with Konan 5 months ago-"

"What exactly do you think that I'd be doing with it?"

"-and you've never been the squeamish type- "

"Dear Kami-sama,"

"- Oh! How tough times make tough men-"

"Shut up,"

Deidara, sensing that with that last command Itachi had almost raised his voice, wisely let that topic drop.

"So, if she's not dead, then what's going on here, hn?"

"I realized that by trying to interact with her 'normally' as per your suggestion, was foolish."

Deidara groaned, "What's wrong with a normal human-human interaction, for kami's sake?!"

"Do you know who else is normal, Dei? Do you know what kind of people have 'normal' interactions with each other all the time?

"Here we go again, hn…"

"The rodents, that's who. Do I seem like a rodent to you, Dei?"

"Aniki, you need to cool it with this rodent thing, hn..."

"No."

"Let me see if I understand the situation. She's not dead, meaning that she's unconscious. It's probably your own doing. So I can assume that you tried to talk to her, failed, and decided that on top of stalking then terrifying her, you would knock her out and abduct her. Have I got it right so far, hn?

"More or less."

"And you don't see anything wrong with this plan?"

"No."

"You're not afraid that this whole ordeal has traumatized her, that she is probably scarred for life, that she will not appreciate being kidnapped by the most ruthless criminal in the region, or that she'll probably hate you forever?"

"No," Itachi repeated. Though in all honesty, he hadn't considered that particular reaction. He had been so sure that she'd see the practicality of his plan over the more commonplace, slow, 'talk-and-spend-time-together' technique that the commoners used. In truth, his version was just a crash course of the same thing. Instead of approaching her in public places like the market, making conversation, and slowly gaining her trust with every encounter, they could just skip all the awkward gaps. All day, everyday. One-on-one time. Time in which his curiousity could be sated quickly and efficiently. Yes, his logic was sound.

"Itachi this will end horribly. Women have so little control in these parts, it only makes them mad to assert your authority over their lives even more, hn."

"Masma is not one of your milkmaids, so spare me your philosophizing."

"Where are you even going to keep her, hn? This place isn't fit for women. It's a lair, for goodness' sake!"

"That's never seemed to bother your milkmaids."

"They're not all milkmaids, hn! And that's because they only have to suffer it for a few hours! Not the rest of their natural lives, Tachi."

"Natural lives?"

"She's definitely going to die from fright when she wakes up. It might take an hour, it might take a week. But definitely- "

Itachi had almost faltered in his resolve. Almost. Here he found himself at the receiving end of another of Deidara's lectures on proper behavior. He nearly fell for it again. But he was not the rodent-imitating man from last week. And he had no idea why he was standing here explaining his actions to a minion.

"That will be all," he interrupted.

The flow of whining tapered off as his number 2 realized that he was being dismissed.

Itachi resumed his walk towards Masma's new quarters. He would have to refurbish one of the cells…

_**3 hours later**_

The refurbishment business turned out to be harder than he thought. Standing in the doorway frowning at the results of the last 3 hours' work, Itachi couldn't help but feel a deep dissatisfaction with the cell's – sorry, _quarters_' - decor.

He'd assumed that this would take 10 minutes, tops. But first, he'd had to wait a whole 5 minutes for the servants to corner and kill all the rats, then an extra 15 for them to lug all the hot water and soap from the kitchen and get to scrubbing the floors. He didn't even want to think about how long it took them to finish the cleaning. Moaning and groaning about 'dangerous mold'. He scoffed just thinking about it. A raised eyebrow had quickly reminded them what real danger looked like.

Then they had taken a whole hour to move the bed in. something about having to disassemble and reassemble a four-poster bed seemed to take them an unholy amount of time. Not to mention how long it took them to hang the curtains according to his instructions. He had grown exhausted supervising them from his cushioned chair, and had had to take a quick nap.

There was nothing to be done about the iron bars in the windows, they had been screwed in too deep. Likewise, the gentle sloping of the floor to a large drain in the centre – for blood, urine and the like – could not be changed. The more he looked at this room, the more he began to think that maybe Deidara had a point.

Maybe.

But probably not. His logic was sound.

He set off to acquire some clothing. Some things to fill the large closet he'd had moved in. In fact, now that he gave it a second look – he really felt that it would look better on the other side of the room. The servants would be notified.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Itachi **_

He popped into his study for a quick check-in on the girl, which told him that she was still unconscious. Satisfied that she wouldn't be up until he was completely ready for her, he set off in the direction of his minions' quarters. Sorry, his 'fellow gang members'. Now that he was about to forcefully acquire some of their belongings for his own purposes, he might as well get in character. Enter 'Caring Leader Itachi'.

He stepped into what Deidara referred to as the 'game room'. He preferred to think of it as it really was – the lay-about room. Where his good-for-nothing lieutenants lazed while they _should _be out there laying down the law among the village vermin-

He halted that train of thought lest his attitude leak into his conversation with these shiftless-

He closed his eyes and took an even breath.

"You there," he said, turning to the man closest to the entrance.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You received some tribute from the Eastern Gang yesterday. I know that they hit up a clothes merchant last week. Give me all the female clothing that was included."

The green-eyed man blinked. Then seemed to scowl, though it was hard to tell with the black mask covering half of his face.

"Give me all your stuff? That's it? Not so much as a hey, how are ya?"

"I haven't the time for this, Kakuzu. Unlike you, I have more important things to do than lurk in the corner of the game room, dozing."

You may have noticed by now that 'Caring Leader Itachi' was only a tiny bit nicer than his normal self. In fact, the only noticeable difference was that he didn't dive straight into violence at the tiniest hint of insubordination. For which Kakuzu was lucky.

"Itachi, you know that I don't collect that shit for a hobby. I sell it. For money. And you know how I am about giving up-"

"My patience wears thin."

"And that would be a shame if I gave two shits about your-"

"Listen here, rat. What part of 'I have better things to do' escaped your comprehension?" Itachi asked in his calmest, slowest voice.

What little could be seen of Kakuzu's face above the mask paled slightly.

"Eh…."

"Are you challenging my authority?" Itachi continued.

"That's not what I-"

"Because it sounds like you're challenging my authority."

"Of course no-"

"I didn't appoint _myself_ leader of this unit. Wasn't it you lot that did that?" His tone sounded almost conversational now, if you forgot who was talking. "I'm sure you remember how we determined who the _strongest_ was. If you have any misgivings about the process, you're welcome to try for-"

"That won't be necessary!" Kakuzu squeaked over the end of the sentence. His skin was clammy and beige now – as opposed to his usual dark brown – and his eyes wide with fear. Then he realized that he had raised his voice at Itachi, and nearly pissed himself.

"Oh no," Itachi smiled indulgently. It was the most terrifying thing that Kakuzu had seen in recent memory. "I insist. Tomorrow morning will be perfect. In the mean time, since I am still the leader for now, you will provide the items I have requested, and put them in the cabinet in the lady's quarters on the ground floor."

"The lady's quarters, Itachi-sama?"

Itachi smirked at the honorific that Kakuzu had never used before today. Boot-licking rodent. He was still going to almost kill him tomorrow.

"The first dungeon on the right, Kakuzu."

"Oh, we've abducted a female then. The ransom must be quite something for you to do it personally-"

"We've not abducted anyone." Itachi snapped.

"Ah, forgive me, Itachi-sama. But you did say that you were keeping a female in the dungeon.."

"_Quarters,_ Kakuzu, the lady's _quarters_."

"What's this shit about abduction, eh? You fuckers started a party without me?" came a brash voice. A silver-haired man walked up to the pair. He stopped next to Kakuzu's chair and leaned heavily on the large scythe he was carrying.

"Ah, Hidan. Itachi-sama's keeping a girl in the dungeons. So go fish out any clothes from yesterday's tribute."

"Fuck that. Why are we giving a prisoner a change of clothing? What the hell is this, an inn now? And who died and made you the boss of me? Get your own shit, geezer! And what kind of ransom money are we talking here? Must be pretty big for Itachi to do it himse-"

"For the last time, she has not been abducted."

Silence followed for a few seconds.

"Yo, my man, you know that's what the fuckin' dungeons are for, right? For prisoners?"

"I am not imprisoning her."

"Well generally we use our bedrooms to bone, dude. If you need pointers, just look at Deidara-"

Itachi gritted his teeth and tuned the blathering out. Why was everyone being unreasonable? It was not so difficult to imagine that he'd be keeping a female in the dunge- in that place for non-criminal purposes, was it?

"-but yo! Mad respect, brah. You just acting like this isn't a big deal. I would be shitting myself scared that Konan would find out! Ha! He really _is_ a fearless leader, na, Kakuzu?"

"Indeed, Itachi-sama is-"

"And what the holy hell is this 'sama' shit, brah? If your nose was any browner right now, you'd stink to Suna and back-"

"Konan? What about Konan?" Itachi asked, distracted.

"You know the way she gets with female targets, man! Remember we had to skip that whole town once 'cos the local crime-lord was some chick? We promised that we would have taken her down gently, and shit. But Konan went crazy, yo. She threw such a fit, I swear she was going to cut our balls off as we slept! Ha! Good times, eh?"

Itachi did indeed remember losing sleep for a week. He wasn't sure how it had escaped his mind, but Konan's reaction to this would be worrisome indeed. When it came to female rights she was very cut-first-ask-questions-later. She would definitely take the dungeon situation the wrong way. Much like everyone else. He found himself wondering for the second time that hour if Deidara had been right about this whole plan…

Well, there was no use second-guessing himself.

"Make it happen," he said to Kakuzu. Then he turned and went back the way he came. That task had taken entirely too long. He needed to check in on his pris- guest again.

Assuming she had already been moved from her temporary location (the couch in his study), he headed straight for her _quarters_. And it looked like he was just in time. She was already beginning to stir when he opened the door and looked in.

Something about the way she stretched as she came to made his throat very dry. Once more, his gaze was drawn to her neck-

Where she was now sporting a bruise.

A cold feeling spread in his gut. Well, it was more a lukewarm feeling, since nothing really ever scared Itachi.

That was the same spot he'd pinched to knock her out. Though right now it looked more like he'd punched it. He'd been too used to dealing with street vermin. He must have used too much force. Unless maybe she bruised easily…?

She stretched her neck out and winced, then whimpered gently.

No, she was definitely in pain.

Itachi felt like the lowest rodent of all. He'd used force to drag her here, then stuck her in a dungeon. Deidara had been right. Probably.


End file.
